Kind of like him, but he didn’t want just order, he wanted control. Always.
Lexi set the phone down and immediately stored the menu back in the drawer. “Okay, handsome. We need a game plan here or I’m not getting the Williams house done. You’ve got two minutes to come up with something while I ditch my shoes. Then you’ll tell me what we’re doing about finding Ed Long.”
She wandered to the other room. The bedroom. Unconcerned about her directive, he peeked around the column for a glimpse because, hey, the place wasn’t that big and he was curious.
“I need to dig around,” he said. “Figure out what the connection might be between Williams, Ed Long and Long’s defense attorney. If we’re going with Williams knowing his attacker, and Ed Long was that attacker, why was he in the Williams house the night of the murder? A guy like Williams wouldn’t be hanging with someone like Long. There’s a reason he was there. I may pay a visit to Henry again. Put a little pressure on him to see if he ever introduced them and why. He won’t talk but I’ll scare the hell out of him. He may be a defense lawyer, but he admitted he knew Williams. And Williams is definitely dead. Which doesn’t look good for old Henry.”
Lexi appeared in the bedroom doorway, her eyes huge, her mouth partially open. Every vibe coming off her screamed panic. What the hell?
“Lex?”
Eyes bugging out, she paddled her hands. Pure and potent adrenaline spewed, tearing up his veins, making his stomach churn, and he hauled butt to the bedroom, gently nudging her from the doorway. “What?”
“The mirror. There.”
She pointed to the stand-up mirror in the corner. Taped to it was one of the flyers she and Jenna had flooded Cartright with.
Another burst of adrenaline hit him and his vision blurred. He blinked it away and scanned the room, eyes sweeping left, right and back again. The top of the tall dresser held a few bottles of lotion and a couple of small glass bowls, all lined up like soldiers. Same thing with the long dresser, the two lamps and various decorative jars. Nothing out of place. “Did you tape that there?”
She’d damn well better say yes. If not, they had bigger problems than her needing more outside lighting.
* * *
“I DIDN’T PUT it there,” Lexi said.
She stood in the doorway while Brodey studied the mirror, running the flashlight from his phone around the surface. Probably looking for fingerprints. A whirring noise drifted from the kitchen and Lexi glanced down the hall before moving closer to Brodey. She’d heard that refrigerator hundreds—thousands—of times and suddenly it terrified her?
Still, couldn’t hurt to get closer to the trained police officer in the room. Yes. Good thought. “Do you see anything?”
“Maybe a print on the tape. You need to report it as a break-in. Is anything missing?”
Please, no. In her shock, she hadn’t thought to check her belongings. Nothing looked out of place but...
She rushed to the dresser, riffled through the drawers where she’d strategically hid her quality jewelry—her grandmother’s wedding ring, the diamond necklace she’d bought herself after her first big job, the heart earrings her father had given her. Yes. All items accounted for, she pushed the drawer closed and collapsed against the dresser, breathing in and out until her ears stopped their annoying whistling. “It’s all here.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. The important things are here.”
Wedgwood vase. Would a petty thief know it was worth five thousand dollars? Another thing she hadn’t paid for, but was given in exchange for the exposure offered from the design contest. She spun back, ran to the doorway and checked the side table in the tiny hallway. Still there. “That vase is the only other thing of value. Unless they wanted to carry the sofa out. Everything is here.”
Except...she hadn’t checked the top drawer. Her underwear drawer. She never kept anything important there, well, other than her underwear, but for the sake of completion, for the detail-oriented person in her who couldn’t ignore the last drawer, she slid it open.
And oh no. Sitting in the middle, resting on top of her silk underwear, was another flyer. She focused on it, blinked away her blurry vision and read the words written in red ink across the top. Silently, she recited each word, letting her lips form them as they sunk in.
LEAVE.
THIS.
CASE.
ALONE.
In my house, in my house, in my house. “No,” she moaned. “This is not happening.”
Brodey leaped up, charged across the room and followed her gaze. He stared at the flyer a few seconds, then reached for his phone. “I’m calling it in. Don’t touch that.”
“You can bet I won’t.”
Not after some pig had put his hands on her things. Her extremely private things. Her stomach turned rock hard as Brodey spoke with a dispatcher and marched to the front door. Without touching it, he checked the lock, then went to the back door and did the same. She stood, half shivering, feet fused to the floor in the tiny hallway, watching him prowl around the house. All because she’d helped Jenna post those damned flyers. He’d warned her about this. Told her how dangerous it was. At the time, she’d considered him paranoid. A worrywart. Mr. Cynical.
Well, Mr. Cynical had nailed this one, and the caged panic inside her banged against her chest. Tears bubbled up—no crying—and she pressed her palms against her eyes.
Ending his call, Brodey reached for her, pulled her in for a hug and slid his hand over her hair. Mr. Touchy-Feely. Right now, she didn’t mind. Not one bit.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “You’re okay.”
She gripped his shirt at his waist, drew in all his heat, praying it would douse the deep freeze that had settled inside her. “He was in my house.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It doesn’t look like he broke anything to get in. He probably picked the back-door lock. It’s cheap. And useless.”
“This had to be Ed Long. He was so creepy when he talked to me. It has to be him.”
“You got someone’s attention.”
She tipped her head up to look at him. “Not any random person. Him. I know it. I can feel it.”
“Or someone he knows. Could be someone he’s working with.”
In my house.
“They know where I live. They could be following me.”
“Could be.”
She shoved him back, flapped her arms. “You’re not helping. You’re supposed to make me feel better.”
“By lying to you? By telling you not to worry when someone gets into your house and leaves you a threatening note? Not my style.”
Mr. Cynical turning into Mr. Anti-Sensitivity. Killer combo, that one.
He latched on to her arms, gave them a squeeze. “I won’t lie, but I promise—I swear to you—nothing will hurt you.” He inched closer, still hanging on to her. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Of all the things men had told her over the years, for whatever reason, this might be the one she believed most. She imagined when Brodey Hayward, annoying as he was, made a promise, he kept it. She absorbed his words, took them in, once again silently repeating them over and over. After the third time, like a mantra, they settled the madness scouring her mind.
Relax. You’ve got this.
Brodey slid his hands to hers and grasped them. “Are you okay?”
Considering what had just happened and what could have happened had she walked in on the person? Yes. Absolutely okay. More than okay. Because her intruder wanted this, wanted her to give in to the fear. Don’t. No. She lifted her head, imagined some stranger pawing through her possessions—her underwear—and suddenly her rock-hard stomach morphed into something else. Something loose and violent that tore up her insides in an angry, burning way.
; She lifted his hand, kissed the back of it and held it to her cheek. “Thank you. For being here. Finding this alone would have been...”
“But you weren’t alone, so don’t go there.”
Someone banged on the front door, devouring the silence and brief calm. Another surge of panic flooded her brain and she shot straight, her body in full alert.
“Relax,” he said. “I’ve got it. It’s probably a patrol car.”
Chapter Nine
By the time the last police officer left, Lexi wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a full barrel of wine and to sleep for a month. When this mess began, she had dreams of an assistant. Her goals had been simple. Get the assistant, clean out the garage and make it an office. Now her privacy had been violated and her sense of safety right along with it. After putting so much energy into her home, endless hours of pouring herself into it, she wasn’t sure she’d ever manage any sleep in it again.
All because she wanted an assistant.
She glanced around the living room, took in the red accents and the mint walls meant to bring tranquility. The camel chairs she’d spent so many nights sketching in, the sofa she’d prized to the point of worship. In a matter of hours, everything she felt about this home had changed.
She plopped onto one of the counter stools, considered what had gone on here and shook her head, letting her festering rage burn into her. No one should be allowed to steal another person’s sense of safety.
Brodey swung through the front door after talking with one of the officers outside. Now he bolted the door behind him and double-checked it.
“You know what?” she said.
“What?”
“I’m angry.”
“You should be.”
“A couple of hours ago, this house was my safe haven. Everything I’ve worked for is here. When the world is rotten, this is my shelter. And someone changed that. It’s not right. I had to be fingerprinted.”
“It’s only to rule out your prints.”
“I know that, but the entire episode is unsettling.”
“Well.” He motioned one hand in circles. “Ah, hell. There’s nothing to say. Yeah, it’s unsettling. No two ways about it.”
Finally, no lecture, no infinite wisdom on how to avoid something like this. Thank you.
He wandered to her, brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face, then set his big hand on her cheek. “You should feel violated. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. But you need to make changes around here.”
Should have known. The man simply couldn’t help himself. “Like what? Bars on the windows?”
“For one thing, motion-sensor lights by the front and back doors. Better locks, too. And you need a security system. Any single woman living alone should have one.”
A security system. That would set her budget back, but feeling the way she did, her safety and sense of comfort compromised, whatever the cost, she’d accept it.
“I’ll do it. No argument. Do you know a good security company?”
“I’ll call a guy I know in the morning. I’m getting you lights with motion sensors, too. They’ll be in by lunchtime.”
“You can do that?”
He grinned. “I happen to be handy. Remember that when you think I’m driving you batty.”
Parked on the stool, her life a wreck around her, she laughed. Straight from her toes it shot up and felt so darned good that she grabbed Brodey by the shirt and smacked a kiss on him. Just plastered her lips against his because if she’d been here alone, this situation would have been so much worse. He deepened the kiss and it became more than the quick smack she’d intended. His hands closed over her lower back and dragged her closer, their tongues clashing as he pushed between her legs. Oh my, this man could kiss.
He broke away, moving his lips along her jaw, dotting kisses until he got to her ear.
“I like kissing you,” he whispered.
“I like you kissing me,” she said.
He laughed and dropped his head to her shoulder. “Damn, you’re great.”
“But you stopped.”
“Because we should get you settled for tonight before I beg to do dirty things to you. Why don’t we move this to my place? It’s a frat house compared with this, but you’ll be safe there.”
She hugged him, held him close, once again drawing in all that protective warmth. With Brodey came a sense of calm that anchored her, helped her stay in control.
Kept her sane.
Relatively.
She knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t—be chased from her home. If she gave in, her intruder won. And she refused to live that way. “I can’t leave.”
“Lex—”
“I’ve loved this cottage from the second I saw it. It has every piece of me I could give it. Whoever did this won’t take that from me.”
Brodey let out a breath, releasing the air through his lips in one long flow. “I want to argue with you.”
“But?”
“I get it. You don’t deserve this. And it stinks. But you can’t be alone until we get this place secure.”
“Well,” she said, suddenly feeling hopeful but maybe not quite ready to share a bed with a man, “you could stay here with me. I’ll even give you the bedroom. I’ll take the couch. Which is a major thing since I barely let anyone sit on it, much less put their feet on it.”
“Hell no. I’ll take the couch. You sleep in your bed and maybe it’ll halfway feel like a normal night.”
A normal night that included a break-in and a man who kissed like a demon sleeping on her twenty-thousand-dollar couch.
Sure.
Normal.
* * *
STARING AT LEXI’S living room ceiling at 2:00 a.m. stunk. Afraid to fall asleep, Brodey kept his mind sharp by doing math problems in his head. When that got old, he switched to the Williams case, methodically organizing a mental to-do list. He’d need to swing by Jenna’s office and update her murder board. This thing was full of interesting angles, and laying it all out, seeing the flow, would help him build a solid theory. They had Ed Long pretending to live in Cartwright, possibly to get info out of Lexi. They had his number in the appointment book Lexi found buried in the wall. They had his lawyer knowing Jonathan Williams. How the hell did all this fit together?
“I need to check his financials,” he said to no one.
Financials always told some sort of story. People were habitual with their spending. Whether a person was frugal or materialistic, a good detective could learn any number of things by simply studying bank records.
Moonlight filtered through a skylight in the kitchen, giving the place a terrific cozy feel. He could see why she loved it here. She’d built a home for herself, made it comfortable for anyone who walked in the door. When he’d told her his place looked like a frat house, he wasn’t exaggerating. It came complete with milk crates as side tables. Maybe he’d have Lexi help him with it. Nothing crazy on his salary, but at least something that resembled an adult living there.
Footsteps in the hallway bolted him upright. He swung around and spotted Lexi in the hallway in a pair of silky-looking shorts and a V-neck top, her blond hair backlit by the moonlight. God, she looked great right out of bed. “You okay, Lex?”
In the darkness, her bare feet smacked lightly against the hardwood. “I’m fine. Restless. Did I wake you?”
He jammed his thumb and middle finger into his eyes for a good rub. “I was awake. Can’t sleep.”
“Me, neither. I hate it.” She slid into the spot next to him and curled her legs under her. “Usually when I can’t sleep, I come out here and work. Maybe do some sketches. It relaxes me.”
“Work relaxes you?”
From his perspective, his job gave him nightmares.
“I guess with what you do, that sounds weird, but yes. I think it’s more the quiet that comes with sketching rather than the actual activity. Although, there’s something therapeutic in creating something with my own hands, watching it take shape.”
“Uh, I can’t draw a lick.”
“So, don’t draw. You said you’re handy. Build model airplanes or something.”
Brodey twisted his lips. That idea had possibilities. “Boats.”
“What?”
He leaned back, bringing his bad arm up to rest it on the back of the couch. “I like boats. When I retire, I want to be on the water. Maybe do fishing charters or something.”
“From homicide to fishing?”
“Yep. And I’m moving someplace warm in the winter. I can’t take this cold. I’ve got another fourteen and a half years and I’m done. Then I’ll do something else.”
She spun sideways, propped her arm on the cushion and her fingertips brushed his elbow. “You’d leave Chicago?”
“Only in the winter. My family is here. Besides, I love it here.”
“I love it here, too. Unfortunately, my business doesn’t allow me to pick up and go. Unless it’s an out-of-state job. And what about kids? Do you want kids?”
He shrugged. “Never thought about it. Maybe.”
“If you have kids, they’ll be in school.”
That was a problem he hadn’t considered. Most likely because he hadn’t met a woman who’d motivated him to think that far ahead.
At least not until now.
He tried to picture Lexi with a bun in the oven. His bun. Hello? A couple of kisses and a few laughs weren’t nearly enough to build a family on. “You want kids?”
Using two fingers, she pressed on his hair. Probably the cowlick that sprang up every morning. “I think so. I’m a little old-fashioned, though, so I don’t want to be a single mom. I guess if the right guy doesn’t come along, I’d consider doing it myself, but right now, I’m okay to wait.”
“Single parenting is tough. I don’t think I could do it.”
“Brodey, you can do anything you put your mind to. You’re stubborn that way.”
The Detective Page 11
